


sweetest tongue has the sharpest tooth

by craftingdead



Series: charlie will make cd a common tag if it kills them [5]
Category: The Crafting Dead
Genre: Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Red Riding Hood Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 09:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15336759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craftingdead/pseuds/craftingdead
Summary: As you’re pretty, so be wise;Wolves may lurk in every guise.(Charles Perrault, Little Red Riding Hood, 1969)





	sweetest tongue has the sharpest tooth

**Author's Note:**

> Grandmother's Tale - Charles Perrault  
> (i changed some lines of the fairytale for my own comfort)

_A mother had finished her baking, so she asked her daughter to take a fresh galette and a pot of cream to her grandmother who lived in a forest cottage. The girl set off, and on her way she met a bzou ._

 

#### ✕✕✕

 

Your name is Nick Lynx, and Red isn’t anything like you were expecting.

When AK first described him, you imagined a tall, hulking figure. A slasher smile, carved delicately across the scarred face of an older man, armed to the teeth with rusty knives and blood staining the clothes on his body. A t-shirt and butcher overalls, stretching across a large frame, broad shoulders, six feet tall and menacing. A dark, gravelly voice to go with it all, just when you thought he couldn’t get any worse.

That...wasn’t exactly what you got.

Sure, he was tall. Towering over six feet tall, at least. You nailed the broad shoulders and blood staining his clothes, but nothing else. Instead, he was an average-sized man who couldn’t have been older than twenty-four or twenty-five—at least, he looked that way. Compared to your status as a teenager, that was old but not as old as you were expecting.

He didn’t have a scarred face, either. Nor a slasher smile, hulking figure, or gravelly voice. Instead, his face and voice were smooth, and he wore a small smile, lopping unevenly at one side. He looked _amused_ , almost, with the situation he was in.

Red spent a long time drinking them in. Gazing at each member of your crew individually, spending slightly longer gazing at you than you’d like, then turned back to address the group as a whole. His look made you shiver. A primal instinct in the back of your head, telling you to run, to hide, screaming to seek cover. It warned you that he was a danger, that you shouldn’t be here with him, and yet, you saw no one else cower back as he engaged in small talk with your group. No one else got the look he gave to you.

That look is reflected in nightmares, horrid occurrings that happen near weekly now. The first one, where you see Ghetto dying on top that building, storm clouds gathering around to weep for the lost, is, objectively, the worst. The rest of the dreams are milder, but still leave a bitter taste in your mouth nonetheless.

One that you know all too well. The one you feel as you, with shaky hands, unfold the note left for you by him, affirming his taking of the one vehicle you could use to escape. Until AK remembers his boat, of course.

 

#### ✕✕✕

 

_The bzou stopped the girl and asked, "Where are you going? What do you carry?"_

_"I’m going my grandmother’s house," said the girl, "and I’m bringing her bread and cream."_

_"Which path will you take?" the bzou asked. "The Path of Needles or the Path of Pins?"_

_"I’ll take the Path of Pins," said the girl._

_"Why then, I’ll take the Path of Needles, and we’ll see who gets there first."_

 

#### ✕✕✕

 

Heyworth was just as bad. Seeing the trap Red had planted for you; false promises of a settlement, scattered across your path, flyers and parchments galore. Hell, he probably set the papers there on purpose. He’d probably known from the start where you were, and lead you on accordingly. Making sure you saw the flyers and their message loud and clear.

You didn’t know what scared you more: Red being able to trick you oh so cleverly, leading you to the settlement and snatching scare promises of freedom and peace out from under your noses, or watching Ghetto go after him, willing throwing himself in the path of danger for revenge.

(The little wink Red gave you as he walked away scared you too, however, it was a different kind of fear.)

The thought of Jess, Barney, and maybe that Goat, whoever it—or they—was, finding Heyworth and being unprepared for the onslaught from the cannibal and his army haunted you into the night, keeping you awake and plaguing your thoughts like a disease.

Until, of course, the sound of screaming woke you from your late-night-shift nap.

 

#### ✕✕✕

 

_The girl set off, the bzou set off, and the bzou reached Grandmother’s cottage first. He quickly killed the old woman and gobbled her up, flesh, blood, and bone – except for a bit of flesh that he put in a little dish on the pantry shelf, and except for a bit of blood that he drained into a little bottle. Then the bzou dressed in Grandmother’s cap and shawl and climbed into bed._

 

#### ✕✕✕

 

Honestly, the next time he showed up, you weren’t expecting it. You honestly weren’t.

You’ve been without him for so long—despite the fact that it couldn’t have been more than a few months at _most_ —that you had just kind of pushed him out of mind. You had bigger worries, including the new people integrating themselves into your group. Dr. Ross, and the White House explosion and biting winter that follow afterward that you forgot about him. Almost, for he still lurked in your dreams, on the cold, cold nights where sleep is scarce and the fires burning in the city can be heard all around.

You and the group you ran had been set up with Husky, happy and healthy in that prison. Despite what the name suggests, you guys, for the first time in a while, had felt safe and secure, contained in that little building of hope.

Until Red had made his arrival.

Walking up to the prison, their new home, only to see him with Husky looking shamefully to the ground was one of the worst feelings you’ve ever experienced. Only made worse by the wicked smile he had given you, upon waking up in the small cage he shoved you in.

You watched with a bitter fury as he laughed and chatted with you about what he's been doing, confirming your fears about that “group” Husky had been dealing with. Reminiscing about how much he had missed you, your group, and how much _fun_ they’d had before. Watching you get angrier and angrier with every word, every taunt, every jab at your friends, your family, with cruel amusement dancing on his face.

Red wasn’t going anywhere, you could see that clear as day. His eyes half-lidded, watching you grow more and more frustrated as he left more and more of your questions unanswered. When you demanded what he knew, he leaned in through the gap in the cell door, and whispered, “You look good in red.”

His lips brushed ever so slightly against your neck as he pulled back. The scarf around your neck felt hot, burning, almost like an omen. His teeth felt sharp, wolf-like against your skin.

He had eventually left, thank god, growing tired of your little chats, claiming he had business to attend to and couldn’t sit here talking all day! The weight that was lifted off your shoulders, your body, when he finally tore his gaze away from you, was relieving.

Everything after that had passed in a blur. From AK busting you out to the power plant to the prison confrontation, cabin, travel to Atlanta and the CDC. His words had rung in your ears, with the picture of his face, sharp teeth, blue eyes and all whenever you tried to sleep. The phrase, small as it might be, had rubbed you the wrong way in a way you couldn’t explain. It was on your mind almost twenty-four-seven until you were facing your lover with a bullet in your shoulder,  blood red on the white snow that had been swirling around you, clouding your thoughts and your memories.

 

#### ✕✕✕

 

_When the girl arrived, the bzou called out, "Pull the peg and come in, my child."_

_"Grandmother," said the girl, "Mother sent me here with a galette and cream."_

_"Put them in the pantry, child. Are you hungry?_

_"Yes, I am, Grandmother."_

_"Then cook the meat that you’ll find on the shelf. Are you thirsty?"_

_"Yes, I am, Grandmother."_

_"Then drink the bottle of wine you’ll find on the shelf beside it, child."_

 

#### ✕✕✕

 

You didn’t see him again for months, until after you had been reunited with your sister, until after the return of Ross and his deadly experiments, until after Cory’s betrayal had been revealed and that grief weighed over the entire group.

It was Cory who knocked you and Bobby out, on Red’s orders. Cory who dragged you back to his base in the middle of the woods, a large, square prison infested with the cannibal’s monarchy. Cory was the one who threw you in the pen with Sub and Corl, and despite it being under orders, the betrayal burned red hot as you remembered how he purposely chose to betray you. To sell you guys out to the bad guy.

They were nice people, Sub and Corl. Despite Sub being mute and Corl being...well, being Corl, they were good-hearted people who genuinely wanted to help get you out—unless it was them wanting to get themselves out, and you just happened to be there as they did it. Leaving Corl behind was horrible.

Max was different. A cool guy as well, maybe not as stable as the rest of your group, but a cool guy. Shelby wasn’t expected, but she was Shelby and she would do anything for you, her brother. You hadn’t wanted to involve her in this, but you had no choice.

None of you had a choice.

 

#### ✕✕✕

 

_As the young girl cooked and ate the meat, a little cat piped up and cried, "You are eating the flesh of your grandmother!"_

_"Throw your shoe at that noisy cat," said the bzou, and so she did._

_As she drank the wine, a small bird cried, "You are drinking the blood of your grandmother!"_

_"Throw your other shoe at that noisy bird," said the bzou, and so she did._

 

#### ✕✕✕

 

Seeing Red at the church, with Shelby behind you, weapons out and ready to go was refreshing. For once, you didn’t have to face him in a situation like _this_ alone. The fact that it was your sister, your twin sister helped as well. Red didn’t know that, of course, so he didn’t even have that advantage above you! For once, it looked like things were going your way, and you were fully prepared to end this once and for all.

Until Ross walked out and everything went to hell.

The reveal of Ross, the information of Red’s men surrounding the place, it crashed down on the group of two at once. You, who’d dealt with this many times, unlike your sister, who was confused and, if her look proved you any right, a little scared. You were scared as well.

Ross threw whatever that thing was and gas filled the room and you had barely managed to drag yourself over to your sister, who grabbed onto you in a protective way, shielding you ever so slightly with her body before the two were out. Red and Ross looked down upon your unconscious body, and they _laughed_ , making fun of the way the two of them had clung together like the siblings they were. Red had promised Ross Shelby, as he had already called “dibs” on you, whatever that was supposed to be, and they parted ways.

Outside, Cory prepared to attack Sub and Bobby, defenseless and unprepared until Max reared down, slashing his cleaver across the man's back and sending him flying into the woods, gurgling the blood in his throat and retching as Max readied for a second attack.

 

#### ✕✕✕

 

_When she finished her meal, the bzou said, "Are you tired from your journey, child? Then take off your clothes, come to bed, and sleep besides me, you must be."_

_"Where shall I put my apron, Grandmother?"_

_"Throw it on the fire, child, for you won’t need it anymore."_

_"Where shall I put my bodice, Grandmother?"_

_"Throw it on the fire, for you won’t need it anymore."_

_The girl repeats this question for her skirt, her petticoat, and her stockings. The bzou gives the same answer, and she throws each item on the fire. Now, only in her undergarments, she approaches the bozu._

 

#### ✕✕✕

 

When you finally wake up, you barely have any time to gather your bearings before someone is in the room, banging on the cell door and yelling at you to get a move on, “Big Red” wanted to see you. Zero time to blink in confusion before someone was grabbing you, pulling you up and slapping a pair of handcuffs onto your hands. Plenty of time to think as you were pulled to Red’s quarters. It felt like a funeral march.

You were hastily shoved into the room, uncuffed and disoriented and given no time to react before the door was shut and locked behind you.

Red was sitting on a chair, one leg slightly crossed over the other and bouncing lightly. In his hands he held a wine glass, filled with some red liquid you were near positive was blood. Red sure was one for first impressions, wasn’t he? A large desk sat between you and him, another chair located behind it, directly in front of you. Red gestured you towards it, taking a large gulp of his...drink...as he did it. You sat and he unceremoniously poured the rest of his refresher into a waste bin beside him, pausing for a moment before dropping the glass as well and listening to it shatter. You cringed.

“So, Nick,” he said after a second, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward to look you directly in the eyes. It was unfair how much taller he was than you. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me? Like, I don’t know, how you escaped?”

He had a strange glint in his eyes as he talked, that only deepened when you didn’t respond. He asked several questions after that, most of them in the same genre, where did Nick go, where he had been, who helped him escape if he knew what happened to General Cory, the usual.

(The General Cory thing confused you. How should you know? Red accepts your confusion with a swift nod. The glint is still in his eyes and is making you more and more uncomfortable with each passing moment.)

The room is quiet for a moment, Red drinking you in, with all your dirty, bloody and bruised glory. And then, he says, in the quietest voice you’ve ever heard come out of his mouth, “Nick, I need a favor from you.” The glint in his eyes looks hungry. You’ve had enough.

You barely make it to the door, slamming your chair down with your desperate scramble out of it for your half-hearted attempt at escape, or just getting help before he’s up as well and has you slammed against it. The cold metal handle of the door digs into your back as he digs his nails into your hips, breaking the skin even with the protection of your sweater. “Now, that’s not gonna do.”

 

#### ✕✕✕

 

_As she comes to bed, she says to him, "Grandmother, how hairy you are!"_

_"The better to keep you warm, my child,"_

_"Grandmother, what big arms you have!"_

_"The better to hold you close, my child."_

_"Grandmother, what big ears you have!"_

_"The better to hear you with, my child."_

_"Grandmother, what sharp teeth you have!"_

_"The better to eat you with, my child. Now come and lay beside me."_

_"But first I must go and wash my hood."_

_"Do it in here, my child."_

_"I cannot. I must go outside," the girl says cleverly, for now she knows that it’s the bzou who is lying in Grandmother’s bed._

 

#### ✕✕✕

 

The next time you see Corl, he looks exhausted, but can you blame him? Time here is hell, and you know that all too well. With a lens of his thick glasses broken and the other popped out, and you covered in blood, some unseen in places you’d rather not mention. When you finally realize it's him, your both ecstatic, and he doesn’t ask you about the bruises on your neck and wrist and you don’t ask him about his busted lip.

When you break out, you are so, so happy to be out of that damned cell. It feels like the first breath of fresh air after being underground, despite only being there for a few days at most and only seeing Red and Ross one time each.

Now all you need is to find Shelby.

But then you meet Tommy and you are so, so scared of being sent back to Red’s prison but you and Corl manage to get him and at gunpoint he agrees to help you. He finally proves himself, in yours and Corl’s opinion, after he saves you from a walker with a rusty pipe when he could’ve let you die, be infected by the walker's deadly bite. He’s trustworthy, alright.

And then you meet back up with Sub and Bobby, and then rejoin and rejoice with the CDC and Major Gray, and everything is finally going your way. Then you unlock the cells and save Shelby while Tommy is off convincing the rest of Red’s Army to revolt against him and in the final confrontation, you almost break. Almost. But almost is enough for you to hesitate, almost is enough for one of Red’s men, one of the only who was lying, who still was loyal to Red, to push him out of the way of your bullet. It barely grazes the side of his head and he and his men escape.

But it’s okay now. He’s gone, with his numbers cut down and Ross nowhere to be seen. You’re back at the CDC with your friends and your lover and your sister and everything is okay.

Until Shelby faints during the wall rebuilding effort. Then, everything goes to hell. Again.

 

#### ✕✕✕

 

_"Then go outside," the bzou agrees, "but mind that you come back again quick. I’ll tie your ankle with a woolen thread so I’ll know just where you are." He ties her ankle with a sturdy thread, but as soon as the girl has gone outside she cuts the thread with her sewing scissors and ties it to a plum tree. The bzou, growing impatient, calls out, "What, have you finished yet, my child?" When no one answers, he calls again. "Are you washing the hood or washing the forest?" No answer. He leaps from bed, follows the thread, and finds her gone._

 

#### ✕✕✕

 

You eventually leave the CDC.

You find Mousie’s group, on your mission to get supplies for your sister—you cannot let her die. After all this time, you cannot. Mousie understands your struggle, and you stay with her group until a strange man who, ironically, calls himself the “Stranger” kills one of her people and the CDC group is revealed to his little group and you and Monroe are running, running to get back to the CDC but it’s too late; it’s up in flames.

The only person you find is Tommy who, thankfully, reveals that most people got out. He stayed behind to let Gray and a small group of people—mostly containing your group and a few trusted scientists—and then he dies in front of your eyes. It is terrible, and you can tell that Monroe is in shock. He wasn’t expecting this. Neither of you had been prepared.

All you can do now is grieve in peace for the lives, however many lives lost. You feel guilty that you didn’t try and spend more time getting to know the residents of the CDC. You feel their blood on their hands, in your veins, dripping down the side of the CDC as a deadly reminder; a deadly curse.

 

#### ✕✕✕

 

_The bzou gives chase, and soon the girl can hear him on the path just behind her. She runs and runs until she reaches a river that’s swift and deep. Some laundresses work on the river bank. "Please help me cross," she says to them. They spread a sheet over the water, holding tightly to its ends. She crosses the bridge of cloth and soon she’s safe on the other side._

 

#### ✕✕✕

 

One time, a very, very long time ago, you heard stories.

Stories from teachers and mentors who talked about marriage one day. The women and men who addressed classes with smiles on their faces and lines deeper than any of the things they spoke of. Love, marriage, wealth, happiness, children. Pretty wives and handsome husbands. (Rich laughed at them; thumped on you the back and proclaimed that his ~~Sienna~~ wouldn't fall for any of that. His ~~baby girl~~ wouldn't. You weren't a girl.)

Other folks told other stories, however. They didn’t talk about marriage or being proper young ladies and wealthy college boys and didn’t care whether you were a guy or girl or neither, about whether you loved a guy or girl or neither. They talked about something different.

They didn’t want marriage, oh, no, no. They talked about something dangerous, thrilling. Those girls, most in their late teens and early twenties told you and other kids about handsome young men who’d come sweep you off your feet then leave the next morning. About electric blue eyes and scruffy red hair and a grin that would make you fall on the sight. About the kind of men who’d feast on your body than leave you to dry. They _loved_ that.

But few told you about the wolves.

Whispered only by your sister and her friends and the scarred mentors spitting tales of rape, murder, and betrayal. Stories too raw and too soon for the wounds they lick to properly heal. Tales about men who would take advantage, who’d take you by force and leave you lying dead, face-first in a stream with your blood tainting the precious water. Those were the wolves you were told to look out for, as Little Red’s like you could be taken away ever so easily into the night and eaten up, the bright red scarf you always wore the only thing left behind. You never worried about those kinds of people—you were too smart to be taken away or fooled by that kind of man!

But that was the kind of man Red was.

He was the big bad wolf, the older, huskier men that girls, guys, and neither alike were told to watch out for. Always played as the older man who offered you candy. Never the young man who smirked at you and playfully gestured you towards him in a crowded room.

You promised your sister you’d never leave with a man like that, never be taken advantage like that. _Sorry, sis_.

But the wolves taught you something much more dangerous, a much more cunning skill.

People always claimed that if you threw them to the wolves, they’d come back leading the pack. That was bullshit. People are soft, they get taken advantage of and get left, face-first in a stream with their blood tainting the precious water. They wouldn’t survive a day out there with the wolves, trying to live like them.

So that’s why you ended up keeping that red scarf, even though the color had been tainted by evil people with evil intentions. You kept that red scarf, and you wore it on you at all times. Red like roses, red like _passion_ , red like blood spilling from the throats of the wolves you had cut down, infected by a mad experiment.

You had always been told that wolves would take advantage of people like you, the little “dead” riding hoods with their bright clothes and red attire. But they never told you how easily the wolves fell, dead at your feet. They never told you how good it felt to know that another wolf would never get you again, not after you’ve bested the first one, leaving marks on your chests, flattened by a dysphoria you could never rid yourself of, not after this, and scars on your hips. They never told you that you could survive a wolf attack.

Your name is Nick Lynx, and you’re not that little one anymore—you never have, not for many years. And the heads of the wolves that prowl the street snap oh so easily off their fragile necks.


End file.
